Most of my dealings with the mafia — to the best of my knowledge — have been pleasant ones. Visiting Sicily three years ago, we stayed at a delightful hotel high on the slopes of Taormina, with a stunning view of Mount Etna. Learning that we were leaving his two star penzione to head off to the untamed wild lands to the south, the owner of the hotel pulled me aside, surreptitiously slipped me a piece of paper with a mobile number on it, and said ‘You have any problems, anywhere, any time, you call this number.’